


Idle Thoughts

by thawrecka



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-25
Updated: 2005-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thawrecka/pseuds/thawrecka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's like that fantasy I keep having..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idle Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Largely inspired by chapters 42 and 47 of Saiyuki. Present tense, very short, possibly crappy.

Sanzo has this fantasy. Gun in his hand, warm and shiny, throbbing like a pulse.

Hakkai looks up, smiling that false smile, perfectly solicitous and there is nothing real in his face. Sanzo moves quickly and shoots his gun at that unbelievable smile, splatters it across the room. Hakkai's body falls heavy, thud, and the remaining parts of his face are carved in death's perpetual smile.

There is the scraping noise of a moving chair and Sanzo turns around to face Gojyo and his disgusting little whimpers of, "What," and, "No."

Gojyo moves for his weapon but Sanzo pulls his trigger faster than that and the bullet hits Gojyo, neatly, between the eyes. Gojyo's stupid body falls like a sack of potatoes onto the floor.

Sanzo goes to find the other one.

There is the sound of the monkey running. They reach the door at the same time. Goku looks worried until he sees the bodies inside the room and the powder burns on Sanzo's fingers and starts to look like something inside him has broken. Sanzo extends his hand and at this point in the fantasy it begins to shake, his arm to falter.

"Sanzo," Goku whispers in a little boy voice. His stupid eyes get wet and disgusting.

"Sanzo," he says again, but his face gets hopeful when Sanzo's hand begins to lower. Then Sanzo shoots him and again. And again.

And then it is quiet, finally.

The gun is smooth in his hands, smells like metal and death. Sanzo brings it to his face and inhales deeply of its scent. It is hot and wanting between his fingers and he breathes against its surface, caresses its hard lines.

He opens his mouth and brings it into himself. Drags in heavy air. Slides his fingers up and pulls his eyes open, leaves the fantasy.

On the horizon he can see morning touching the sky and as his fingers fumble for his lighter his breath echoes like a gunshot.


End file.
